


just keep your eyes on me

by brandonsaad (createadisaster)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Regency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-18 08:53:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2342495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/createadisaster/pseuds/brandonsaad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re going to have to get married eventually, you know,” Seabrook says.</p><p>Keith grins and glances over at him. “They’ll never get me alive.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	just keep your eyes on me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theswearingkind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theswearingkind/gifts).



> so theswearingkind asked me for a regency au (lord of the manor and man who tends the horses), and so a regency au i wrote! 
> 
> i almost gave patrick sharp a cameo and made him a horse. i didn't do it, cause i couldn't figure out how to make it not seem forced, but i need you all to know i thought a lot about it.
> 
> hope you all had a happy offseason!! glad it's over!!

Duncan Keith, Duke of Norris, is known throughout his country for his incredible swordsmanship, wealth, hospitality, and charm. Brent Seabrook, who lacks a title and is “of” Norris in that he sleeps in the servants’ quarters in the winter and in the stables in the summer, is not known for much of anything.

That’s not quite true—though he may not claim the international renown of his employer, Seabrook is, by Keith’s own admission, “the best horseman I’ve ever seen.” 

For what Seabrook lacks in widespread fame, he makes up for with the unending and overwhelming admiration of the Duke of Norris.

\- - -

“You’re going to have to get married eventually, you know,” Seabrook says in the first line of an old routine, dropping into a seat in Keith’s library like he belongs there. Privately, he thinks that he does. 

Keith’s just come home from yet another horrendously dull event that his status as titled, handsome, and single mandates he goes to, and, as per usual, requested Seabrook’s company upon returning. It’s been tradition for years now—Keith has to search for a wife, and Seabrook has to tease him for his failures.

“They’ll never get me alive,” Keith answers as usual, yanking at his cravat. 

“Was the food good, at least?” Seabrook suggests as Keith drops into his favorite armchair and kicks off his shoes. He always does this, leaves clothes strewn on the floor as he walks in. Seabrook pities the servants of the house responsible for picking up after him.

“Mediocre,” Keith grumbles. “And the girls were worse. I was constantly having my feet stepped on.”

“You can’t blame the girls for that,” Seabrook murmurs, and hides a smirk when Keith’s head whips up.

“Are you insinuating something, stable boy?” he asks, but he’s smiling, and so Seabrook smiles too. “Are you making yourself comfortable in _my_ library only to insult me?”

“I’m not insinuating anything, my lord,” he says, and watches Keith’s smile get bigger. “I’m stating it as fact. Dancing is not your strong suit.” He pauses and then adds, “And I do not need to be in your library to insult you. _My lord_.”

Keith laughs, and Seabrook ignores the embarrassing flush of pride that comes from it. “I am an _excellent_ dancer,” he argues, and it’s Seabrook’s turn to laugh. “I am!”

“Prove it,” he challenges, not expecting much of anything to come from it. It was foolish of him, really, to forget how Keith responds to a dare.

He stands, crosses the room, stops in front of Seabrook’s chair. Seabrook looks up at him, a little startled, and Keith takes the book out of his hands, sets it aside. 

“Sir?” he asks. It’s unfamiliar territory. For all that their friendship is… unconventional, maybe, and perhaps even unbefitting of a duke and his employee, he’s not sure he’s ever been this close to him.

Keith takes his hand and pulls him to his feet. He’s strong, and it’s something Seabrook knew objectively, and yet it’s very different when one of his arms is locked around his waist. Keith isn’t quite as tall as he is, but he seems dead-set on leading, and he takes his hand.

“May I have this dance?” Keith asks, and Seabrook huffs out a little laugh.

“I’m not sure you’re giving me much of a choice,” he points out, and puts his free hand on Keith’s shoulder. 

“I’m not,” Keith agrees, and starts to move.

Seabrook is not a dancer himself by any means; he grew up on a farm with no opportunity or reason for ballrooms. Much to his surprise, Keith moves with grace, and it’s easier to follow his lead than he would have thought, had he any reason to consider this before.

“There’s no music,” Seabrook says a little weakly after the fourth time he stumbles, blames his clumsiness on the silence and not on the strangeness, but Keith just grins, toothy and wide. Seabrook thinks, a little wildly, about the rumors that those teeth aren’t real, and wonders which ones are fake.

Keith starts humming, and Seabrook gets better at following his footwork. He decides the night cannot get stranger, but also thinks maybe he shouldn’t allow it to. When Keith stops, lets him go, and bows, Seabrook returns the bow, bids him goodnight, and retires to his bed.

\- - -

It’s not something they discuss the next day. Seabrook suspects Keith had been drinking, and leaves it be.

\- - -

It is Seabrook’s job to unsaddle and stable the horses for the night, and Keith has long since established a habit of returning from an event and then waiting in the barns until he’s finished.

He’s impatient tonight, too, clearly itching to get out of his formal attire and into his bed, and Seabrook says, “You know, you could go in without me.”

“But then who would hear me complain?” he counters immediately. “No, I will wait, and you will join me for a whiskey. But you should speed up, in the meantime.”

Seabrook laughs, and continues to take his time. “Your horses won’t like me if I rush,” he points out.

“I won’t like you if you dawdle!” Keith retorts, wearing an expression best described as sullen.

“Maybe,” Seabrook agrees, and runs his hand along the neck of one of his favorite mares, pleased when she rewards him with a huff and a nuzzle. “But whose opinion matters more, truly?” 

He glances over his shoulder to see Keith’s reaction, and Keith is trying _very_ hard to look offended. When they make eye contact, he loses any semblance, and bursts into laughter.

(He wonders, very privately, when that rush of pleasure and pride at making him laugh will go away. It’s been years now, and there’s no sign of it easing.)

“Maybe I will go in without you,” Keith grins. “Awful brat, you are.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Seabrook says, checking the hooves of Keith’s favorite mount before leading him into his stall.

“I really wouldn’t,” Keith agrees, and Seabrook has to turn his back on him, and keep his widening smile between himself and the horses.

-

“I will never attend another ball as long as I live,” Keith announces. “The clothing is suffocating and the atmosphere is worse, and I will never in my _life_ be able to dance with those girls. You were lighter on your feet.”

“I feel as though I should be offended,” Seabrook says dryly. “Whether on their behalf or my own, I am not sure.”

Keith makes a face at him and takes his jacket off with perhaps more violence than was necessary for such a task. He drops it on the floor.

“I’m not going to hang that for you, you know,” Seabrook reminds him.

“Of course you’re not, you work in the stables,” Keith says. “One of the housekeepers will attend to it.” 

Seabrook only barely manages to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “And yet you marvel that you do not have a wife.”

Keith shrugs and undoes the buttons on his shirt. Seabrook glances away from the divot of his collarbone and the hair on his chest, and Keith does not seem to care. “It’s the damned dancing, Seabrook. Having servants, I think, is a plus.”

“Well, you’re going to have to get married eventually,” Seabrook says after a pause.

Keith is quiet for a moment and then glances at Seabrook, meets his eyes. “They’ll never get me alive.”

\- - -

Keith has to host this ball himself; Seabrook finds himself spending the evening with the horses of the guests while Keith entertains inside. He suspects he’s having a night more well-suited to his interests.

When the last of the carriages departs, Seabrook debates retiring for the night, and instead approaches the house. He doubts Keith has enjoyed his evening; he’s not a particularly hospitable man by nature, and though he is adept at performing the gracious host, Seabrook knows better than to think he’s enjoyed himself.

Keith likes his routines. Seabrook knows that he is one.

And so he approaches the house, knocks on the grand front doors, and lets himself in. He makes his way to the ballroom and finds it full of servants but empty of Keith, and so he turns to find him elsewhere.

He’s not in the library, though, nor his study, nor his sitting rooms. Seabrook considers for a moment that Keith has gone to sleep and so he should do the same, but instead he decides to take the elaborate staircase.

Keith’s bedroom door is ajar, but Seabrook knocks before he enters anyway.

“ _What_?” he demands voice tight, and Seabrook startles.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he begins, and Keith looks up, shakes his head.

“No, no,” he says. “I didn’t know—I didn’t know it was you. Come in, shut the door.”

Seabrook does, and finds himself standing in Keith’s bedroom, a place he’s never been before. Keith is mostly undressed, standing there in his trousers with his shirt and vest all on the floor. That’s a place Seabrook’s never been before, too, and he finds himself fighting to tear his gaze away from the curve of his ribcage or cut of his hips.

“I didn’t think I’d see you tonight,” Keith interrupts his reverie, and Seabrook clears his throat and takes another step into the room.

“I wasn’t sure if I should seek your company,” he says, careful, careful. “I know you don’t enjoy these. Oh, don’t deny it.” Keith, who had opened his mouth presumably to object, shuts it obediently. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

Keith is quiet for a long moment, and Seabrook wonders if he’s said the wrong thing. “I suppose I don’t,” he finally says.

“At least they’ve gone for the night,” Seabrook says, returning to common ground, a safe and familiar topic. “And the season is almost over. How was the dancing tonight?”

“Better than usual,” Keith says, with some renewed cheer. “My musicians are always the best, of course.”

“Of course,” Seabrook agrees, and smiles slightly. “And the women?”

Keith gets distant again as quickly as one could blow out a candle. “None stand out. I envy you, you know, in that you don’t have to do—all this. The parading about and the dance cards and all the constant goddamn _politeness_ —” He takes a breath and composes himself. “I suppose I am just tired of it.”

Seabrook glances at the floor and then back at Keith. “You’re going to have to get married eventually,” he offers.

“God _damn_ it, Brent!” Keith bursts, and startles Seabrook into silence. When Keith looks at him, there’s an intensity there he’s never seen before. “I won’t.”

“You won’t,” Seabrook echoes. He’d begun the line as a return to normalcy, but it seems Keith is determined to deviate from it.

“I don’t want to get married,” he says. “I’m not going to get married. And you know why.” He starts with conviction and ends with hope, and Seabrook clears his throat. 

He knows why.

It’s one of those moments in which the most important of decisions get made. Seabrook makes the right one. 

“I don’t… I don’t want you to get married either,” he says slowly, cautiously, and watches as relief colors Keith’s expression. 

“So I won’t,” Keith says.

“That’s good,” Seabrook says.

Keith clears his throat, looks away. “Well,” he says, almost businesslike. “Well, I suppose… I suppose we should—”

Seabrook closes the distance between them, wraps both arms around his bare waist, and kisses him soundly. It’s another of those decision-making moments, and Seabrook has decided not to let Keith say whatever he supposes they should.

Keith takes a moment to respond, and Seabrook prays that this choice was the right one (and thinks it may have been worth making even if it wasn’t—), and then Keith’s mouth opens just slightly, and he grips Seabrook’s hair with one hand and clenches the other in his shirt, and Seabrook has thought about kissing him more than he is proud of and yet it could not have compared to the harsh, beautiful, biting reality.

When they part, they don’t pull away, only stand there holding onto each other with shaking hands. Keith’s mouth is swollen and red, and Seabrook cannot stop himself from tracing his lower lip with his tongue.

Keith takes a shuddering breath and then smiles. He presses a kiss to the corner of Seabrook’s mouth and says, “They’ll never get me alive.”

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out with me on [tumblr](http://brandonsaaders.tumblr.com) for more hockey shenanigans!


End file.
